


Under The Same Roof (that never sleeps)

by isuilde



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, a day in mankai dorm basically, plotless stuff, slice-of-life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-27 13:06:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19013500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isuilde/pseuds/isuilde
Summary: The Mankai Dorm never sleeps.Some residents stay up through nights, some wake up too early; some leave for the day and some others stay in. A look at a day in Mankai Dorm and the shenanigans it contains.





	Under The Same Roof (that never sleeps)

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve always wanted to write gen domestic shenanigans in Mankai Dorm, but this turned out to be more of a struggle than I expected. Probably getting rusty again lol. So thank you so much carpfish for betaing, for looking over this mess and fixing most of it for me!
> 
> Have a random Mankai Company actors+the dorm+shenanigans, I hope you’ll enjoy this!

When Azuma looks up at the window, the first rays of sun have tinted the the corners of the windowsill, sneaking into the common room. Across him, Sakyo makes a long-suffering sigh as he gathers the papers strewn all over the table, careful not to knock over the now empty cans of beer, his voice scratchy with sleeplessness. “This can wait until noon.”

Azuma offers him an easy smile. “At least we finished halfway through—“ he pauses, checks the stack of papers yet untouched. “And maybe we can finish it this afternoon. Staying up all night isn’t very good for our skin, after all.” 

“No longer the age to keep doing it several nights in a row, either,” Sakyo groans, eyebrows twitching in annoyance when he can feel his hip crack as he draws himself to his feet. “God fuck.”

A chuckle escapes Azuma’s lips before he realizes it. “There’s that, too. Let’s get some sleep before noon.”

They collect the empty cans of beer and one empty bottle of sake,Sakyo dutifully separating them to trash out while Azuma places the dirty dishes in the sink. He’s only about to turn on the water to wash them when the door to the kitchen opens, Omi’s still-bleary face appearing a mere second later. The younger man stares at the two men in the kitchen, blinking uncomprehendingly. 

By Azuma’s side, Sakyo crouches down to pull the bag of coffee beans out from the lower cabinet. “Get to the bathroom and pull yourself together before you get in the kitchen, Fushimi. I’ll start the coffee going.”

With a vague mumble of thanks, Omi disappears towards the general direction of their dorm’s shared bathroom. Azuma turns on the water and has suds up his elbows before Sakyo even turns on the coffeemaker. “Ah, Sakyo-san, would you mind pulling my sleeve back? It keeps slipping down.”

“That’s why you properly roll them up,” Sakyo tells him, apparently still finding it in himself for one last lecture before a yawn escapes him. Azuma keeps his amusement to a small smile and waits until Sakyo is done with the coffeemaker before he comes over to roll Azuma’s right sleeve. “You okay with the dishes?”

“Of course. Thank you,” Azuma smiles, gestures with his head towards the door. “Please get some rest, I’ll see you at noon.”

“Don’t forget to turn off the balcony lights before you go to bed.” 

The door opens again, this time revealing a more awake, if still less bright, Omi. He steps aside to let Sakyo through, mumbling an almost unheard “good night”  to Sakyo’s grumpy “I’m gonna get some sleep so tell them to keep it down, Fushimi,” grunt. The door closes again and Omi’s heavy shuffle into the kitchen comes closer. 

Azuma turns off the water, reaches for the towel to dry off his hands. “Good morning, Fushimi. It’s a bit early to start making breakfast, isn’t it?”

“Bentou,” Omi mutters, eyes a laser focus on the coffeemaker. Azuma chuckles, forgetting for a moment the sleep that has been clinging to his eyelids since an hour ago, and leans over to grab one of the mugs from the drying rack before pressing it into Omi’s hands. 

“Here,” he says, patting the younger man on the shoulder. “Staying up later than this will be bad for my skin, so I’m going to bed too. Don’t break anything before you have your coffee.”

A mumbled “thank you, Azuma-san,” floats after Azuma as he walks to the door. Before it closes, Azuma throws a fond smile towards Omi—whose narrowed eyes fixed at the his mug, hands steady despite the sleepiness still clear in his eyes.

The door closes with a quiet click.

**——-o0o——-**  

The second layer of tamagoyaki rolls smoothly under the saibashi in his fingers, and Omi adds another layer onto the pan, half his attention already moving to the croquettes being fried on the other fryer. He hears the rice cooker ping, which means the rice for onigiri is ready. The can of tuna is still over on the counter along with mentaiko, grilled mackerel, prawns, and diced cucumber—he only needs to mix them together to get several servings of fillings ready. 

Imagining Misumi’s ecstatic reaction to today’s onigiri bentou makes Omi chuckle to himself.

The kitchen door opens, and he turns to see a half-zombie wobbling into the kitchen, headed straight to the refrigerator to grab an energy drink. Omi tilts his head, staring in amusement at the half-zombie gulping the entire tiny bottle in three seconds flat. “You didn’t sleep, did you?” 

“Almost done,” Tsuzuru mumbles, but underneath the exhaustion in his voice, there’s excitement vibrating around his words. “Three more scenes. I wanted to revise the opening scene too but I can do that while editing. It’s all fleshed out.” 

Omi hums. “That’s good to hear. Everyone is excited for your script.” He finishes the tamagoyaki and sets down the saibashi in favor of gently slapping Tsuzuru’s hand away when the younger man reaches for a second bottle of energy drink from the fridge. “Don’t. I’ll make you green tea and snacks, so sit down?” 

Tsuzuru looks longingly at the energy drink, but obediently closes the fridge. “Black tea?” he tries, which Omi meets with an amused laugh.

“Black tea,” he agrees, already reaching for box of black tea bags on top of the fridge.  Tsuzuru wanders away to the kitchen counter, too jittery with all-nighter adrenaline to sit down, and Omi decides to take out apples, blueberries and a bar of dark chocolate from the fridge as well. He tosses the chocolate to Tsuzuru, who fumbles as he catches it, and that’s when the door to the kitchen opens again.

“Morning,” Tasuku says briskly, dressed in his usual jersey and a towel around his neck with two empty bottles in his hand. He strides over to the sink to fill the bottles, glancing at Tsuzuru before turning a curious look to Omi. Omi just shrugs, laughing under his breath as he cuts the apple into bite-sized pieces.

“Good morning, Takato-san,” Tsuzuru replies, fingers struggling to rip the chocolate bar open. Tasuku turns the water off, amused as he sets the bottle down and reaches out to snatch the bar from Tsuzuru’s hand. 

“Maybe you should try going on a run with me,” he says, but rips the corner of the chocolate bar open for Tsuzuru anyway. He places it back in Tsuzuru’s hand, who yawns widely around the word thank-you. “This is what, the third day? How are you doing?”

“He said he’s almost done,” Omi answers instead, since Tsuzuru can’t seem to hold back another yawn enough to reply. With the apple and blueberries arranged in a small bowl, he takes out the tea bag from the mug and sets them on the counter in front of Tsuzuru. “Here you go. Don’t go stealing energy drinks when no one’s in the kitchen.” 

Tsuzuru smiles, bites into the chocolate bar and keeps it dangled between his teeth. “Won’t. Thank you, Fushimi-san!”

Their playwright’s off then, with the mug of tea, a bowl of fruits, and a chocolate bar between his teeth, managing to narrowly avoid a yelping Sakuya who ducks under Tsuzuru’s arm into the kitchen. “Tsuzuru-kun!” he says, surprised, and Tsuzuru waves an elbow vaguely at him before disappearing towards the stairs. 

Sakuya turns to the two older men still in the kitchen, bewildered. “He’s out?”

“For something to boost his energy, yeah,” Omi smiles, hip leaning against the counter. “He said he’s almost done.”

“Oh!” It’s adorable, the way Sakuya’s eyes sparkle. “I wonder what the script will be this time! It’s taking Tsuzuru-kun a while longer to finish, everyone’s getting kind of worried...” 

Tasuku lobs one of the water bottles at Sakuya, who catches it without fumbling. “He seems to be doing fine. Usui did say he forced Tsuzuru to take short naps every ten hours. You ready?” 

“Yes!” Sakuya grins, cheerfulness at full-throttle despite the early hour of the morning. “Omi-san, can I have a bentou today, too? The troupe down the road asked me to help with stage props last night, so I’ll be out until evening today...”

Tasuku raises an eyebrow. “You too? I think they asked Tsumugi to help them out yesterday.”

“Oh, yes, Tsumugi-san’s also going today! He recommended me to help out too, so that’s why—“ Sakuya pauses, because there are sounds of muffled yelling coming from overhead, and a higher-pitched shout over it. “Huh, I wonder what is it, first thing in the morning....” 

Another shout, and then an audible crash.

Tasuku sighs. “Okay, time to go.”

**——-o0o——-**  

While Tsumugi isn’t exactly an early riser compared to Tasuku, he does make a point to get up before most of the dorm residents comes out for breakfast. At first, it was out of a sense of responsibility—he can’t help with all the cookings, and if nothing, he’s sure Omi would always appreciate a pair of extra hands to set the table. As time passes though, he finds a particular enjoyment in staying in the dining room and watching the other dorm residents go through their morning meals before leaving for the day. 

Maybe it’s the liveliness. Maybe it’s the silly banters, or the occassional hilarious sight of his friends who are late enough not to have the time to fix their bedhair. Or maybe, just like now, in playing some sort of damage control when arguments grow almost out of hand. 

Pouring milk into two glasses, he absently watches in amusement as Azami takes his seat and sends Tenma a glare over his toast. “Seriously. Were you guys trying to wake shitty Sakyo up?”

“It was an accident, okay,” Tenma rubs his forehead. “I slipped on a fabric—“

“You stepped on it,” Yuki deadpans.

Tenma groans. “It was right in front of the door, I slipped! Besides, you’re the one who left it carelessly like that!”

“Keep it down,” Tsumugi breezes in, half singsongs the words, and places glasses of milk in front of both Yuki and Azami, who both make a face at him. “We don’t want to wake Sakyo-san up.”

Yuki rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t the one who decided to yell so loudly in the morning just because he was too sleepy to figure out how to open the door and kept turning it the wrong way.”

Tenma flushes. “I was just asking you to open the door since I thought you locked it!”

“Since when have I ever locked the room when you decided to crash at Banri’s?” Yuki shakes his head, snagging his bag and slinging it over one shoulder. “I’m off. Someone tell Omi that I’m going home for a bit tonight so I don’t need dinner.”

“Ah, Yuki, your bentou,” Tsumugi scrambles over the counter to grab one of the bentou boxes, wrapped in green-white furoshiki. He hands it over to Azami, who automatically makes a motion as if he’s about to lob it to Yuki, and Tsumugi can see the exact split-second Azami aborts that motion. Later, he likes to think that maybe Azami decides against it because Omi probably woke up an ungodly hour to make all their bentous. The box gets slid across the table carefully instead, and Yuki takes it with a nod of thanks at Azami.

Masumi walks in just as Yuki’s shadow disappears out the door, Citron steering him into the room by the shoulder with a fake stern look that breaks into a huge grin once he plops Masumi down on the chair next to Tenma. “Good morning everyone!” he announces happily, and Masumi lets his head fall onto the table. Citron frowns. “Masumi! I promised Sakuya to send you off to school this morning! I will walk out on you to the station, ‘kay!”

“So loud,” is the only grumble Masumi gives, muffled by the table’s surface.

“Walk you out to the station,” Tsumugi corrects, laughing under his breath as he collects the empty glass of milk Yuki had left. “Masumi-kun, the Director just went out for a run twenty minutes ago. If you hurry, you might be able to catch her by the shopping district.”

It’s almost like a storm, the way Masumi instantly snatches his bentou box and a slice of toast before shooting out of his seat and disappearing out the door in a flash, leaving everyone else blinking in baffled amusement. Citron makes an impressed noise. “Masumi is faster than Oosumi, ne!”

“Oosumi?” Azami echoes.

“Japan’s first space satellite,” Tenma answers. “It came up in my latest drama, we watched it together last night.”

“Faster than Oosumi when launched!” Citron throws his hands up in the air, chuckling as he strides towards the door, clearly intent on following through his earlier announcement of walking Masumi out to the station. “By the way, if Tenma and Azami don’t turn into Oosumi now, they’re going to be late!”

Azami swears, downing his glass of milk in record time, while Tenma grabs both of their bentou boxes. Tsumugi opens his mouth to tell Azami to be careful not to choke on his milk, but Tenma streamrolls over him with a slice of toast dangling between his teeth: “Come on Azami, Igawa’s waiting by the end of the block, we’ll give you a ride.”

Azami finishes his glass of milk (safely, much to Tsumugi’s relief), and looks up. “Seriously? You’ll be late too though.”

“Nah, I’m taking the morning off today, they want me for an interview at nine.”

“Then I’ll take you up on it, thanks.”

The two disappear hurriedly out the door and Tsumugi closes his mouth again, shaking his head slightly in amusement and returning to his own breakfast.

Eating by himself after all that ruckus makes him feel a little bit out of place, somehow. Maybe that’s why he starts making his own noise—letting his fork clatter against the plate when he’s done, pushing his chair back a bit rougher so that it scrapes against the wooden floor, clinking the plates and glasses together as he brings them over to the sink and wash them.

“That’s quite a commotion you’re making there,” Chikage’s voice comes from the door just as Tsumugi finishes washing the last glass. “You okay?”

Their eyes meet, and Tsumugi smiles almost sheepishly. “Aah... I was just thinking that it’s kind of quiet, when everyone’s gone to school. I didn’t realize I was making so much noise. Good morning, Chikage-san.”

“Morning,” Chikage replies, placing his briefcase on a chair. His eyes flick over the few bentou boxes left on the kitchen counter, and Tsumugi thinks he’s counting them. “Early shift at the part time job?”

He’s not surprised that Chikage knows, just from the number of the bentou boxes left. “Yes,” he says, drying his hands before rounding the counter and reaching for his bag. “Just filling in for a friend until noon.”

Chikage reaches for the bentou box wrapped in a deep blue furoshiki patterned with tiny flowers. “Well, make sure to finish your lunch before joining Sakuya with the troupe down the road,” he says, gently placing the box onto Tsumugi’s waiting hands.

Tsumugi smiles, keeps the box safe in the crook of one arm as he hefts his bag onto his shoulder with the other hand. “Thank you. I will be off then.”

He’s sure he isn’t imagining the way Chikage’s smile softens as he says, “Be careful on your way.”

**——-o0o——-**  

The front door is still open when Chikage finally makes his way to the genkan. The Director is there, one hand holding the end of the towel around her neck and wiping the sweat off her cheek even as she half-bends down to take off her shoes. There is one tiny plastic bag hanging off her elbow, wafting into Chikage’s nose is the warm scent of freshly baked curry bread, the best possible form self-indulgence for Tachibana Izumi.

Their eyes meet when she finally straightens. “Ah, Chikage-san! Leaving for work?”

“Yeah,” he realizes her gaze has fallen to the wrapped bentou box on his left hand, and doesn’t know how to feel when her face turns half-amused and half-fond. “By the way, can’t we do something about these cutesy-patterned furoshiki? It’s not that I mind, but—“

Her eyes dance with mirth. “Would your colleagues think it’s from your lover?”

Chikage sighs. “I don’t like misleading rumours.”

“I’m sure you purposefully caused half of those rumours,” she grins, and Chikage chuckles because it’s not exactly not true. Not that he would ever admit it to anyone—for him, trade secrets are really no joke. “Will you be home late tonight?”

“Perhaps,” Chikage says because he doesn’t know how to tell the truth: that he’s been taking less and less overtime at work in favor of spending his evening in the controlled chaos that is Mankai Dorm and the unexpected comfort that it brings.  He slips into his shoes while the Director lines up her shoes by the genkan. “But Chigasaki should be home by tonight, if I’m not mistaken—“ his eyes flick behind the Director, ears registering the half-rushed steps easily associated with being late, and Chikage smiles just as Juuza appears. “Morning, Juuza.”

“Oh.” Juuza nods at him, sharp eyes distracted with the strap of his backpack. “Good morning, Chikage-san. Director, too.”

“I thought your first class today is at eleven?”

Either Juuza doesn’t show that he thinks it’s weird for Chikage to know about his university schedule, or he’s grown used to the fact that Chikage knows too many things by now. He doesn’t even bat an eye at the question and just smoothly slips past the Director to retrieve his sneakers. “There’s a group assignment before class—”

The Director grimaces. “Ooh, I don’t miss that.“

“—and Tsuzuru-san asked me to return some books to the library,” Juuza finishes, hefting his backpack up on one shoulder, The other two stare as the lower part of the backpack sags with the weight of its contents. Juuza considers the weight on his shoulder for a moment, then properly hauls on the other strap for  better weight distribution. “It’s. A lot of books.”

Chikage chuckles. “I’d expect no less from our resident playwright. You could have said no, you know.”

“No, I—” It’s cute, the way someone with a built as big as Juuza stumbles around words despite his seemingly stoic look, his shyness more apparent in the way his fingers twist the strap of his backpack than his expression. “I offered. He looked really tired the other day, so... Least I can do, really.” 

“Juuza-kun..” The Director looks touched. Chikage makes a mental note to bring back sweet treats; not just as a little personal thank-you for taking care of a Spring Troupe member, but also because he quite enjoys Juuza’s solemnly happy look whenever some sort of sweet is within his arm’s reach.

“Well, we’d better get going then,” Chikage says, and Juuza steps down to the genkan to slip into his shoes. The door, still opened, brings in the earliest summer heat now that the last of the cherry blossoms have all gone. The Director waves goodbye with a smile that’s just a bright as the late spring sun outside even as Juuza closes the door behind them.

Chikage squints at the rapidly rising sun—he’d always been a late winter child, preferring temperatures under zero degrees rather than the two-digits ones. “It’ll be summer in a blink of an eye, huh.”

“Nice time for shaved ice,” Juuza replies, the half-absent tone indicating that he’s already imagining the sweet, cold treat. “And soft serve. Muku said he found a place that has wasabi soft serve, maybe we can...”

Chikage smiles. “I’m sure no one would mind if we take a detour after going out for Street Acts.”

“Yeah,” Juuza returns the smile, much more certain and sure now that Chikage seems interested.

They had just barely left the porch when the large tree by the dorm gate makes a rather violent rustle, seizing their attention in seconds. Chikage isn’t at all surprised that when they look up, it’s Misumi perching the highest branch, balancing precariously only with one hand gripping the extended branch, two kittens in the other arm and a full-grown cat draped over his shoulders.

“Ah, Chikageee! Juuzaaa!” It’s impressive that Misumi doesn’t lose his balance even when he lets go of the branch to wave at them. “Careful on your way and have a great daaayy!” 

Chikage opens his mouth to tell him not to let go of the branch, then wisely closes it again without saying anything. Juuza, ever the polite one, half-bows at Misumi, and says, “We’re off.”

“Okaaay!” And then just like that, with a grin, Misumi decides to nearly give the two of them a heart attack by leaping off the branch with the cats still clinging onto him, feet skittering on the railings of the second floor balcony before he lands safely behind it.

“Alright,” Chikage says, after a pause, and nudges Juuza forward. “We’re going to be late, so come on.”

**——-o0o——-**  

Misumi is missing one kitten. The white one, with one slightly asymmetrical ear, and a beautiful triangular spot of orange right on the nose.

“Yacchan~” he calls, half-whispering because he knows Sakyo and Azuma are in the living room doing hard stuff like company papers and finances. He hopes the kitten didn’t find her way to where Sakyo is—as much as he loves Sakyo, he’ll get a lecture if he gets caught sneaking the cats into the dorm, and Misumi would rather spend the day running around the inner garden than listen to Sakyo’s diatribes. Though he thinks Sakyo does need a kitten to soften up. Maybe he should suggest that to the Director when she gets home?

Ricchan, the tiny black kitten perching around his shoulder, makes a lazy meow and stretches. Before Misumi can calm him down, the kitten jumps off his shoulder, feet quick and light as he shoots towards the inner garden. Misumi hisses, his voice fake-stern around the name “Ricchan!” even if he knows Ricchan wouldn’t listen, and hurriedly takes off after him. They went past the inner garden earlier and Yacchan was certainly not there, but—

Oh. Misumi blinks.

Yacchan is there, perched atop the garden table that Tsumugi likes to use when he invites the old man with the vegetable garden on the next block over for tea and gardening advice. Her ears perk up as Ricchan joins her on top of the table, circling a plate of tuna sandwich carefully before settling down by the plate’s owner’s hand, meowing hopefully. There’s a pair of gardening gloves on the other side of the table, seemingly permanently dyed in brown because of how often they’re used, dirt and tiny stray grass caking the fingers. 

The owner’s light green eyes, troubled and confused, finally look up to find Misumi’s own. It makes Misumi grin, how eloquent those eyes are in contrast to the rest of the man’s seemingly expressionless facial muscles. 

“Guy~” Misumi singsongs, skipping the last five steps to the table before plopping himself on the other chair, both legs up. “You’re popular!” 

Guy eyes Misumi, considers the last kitten seemingly asleep on the top of Misumi’s head, and clears his throat. “I think it’s my food that is popular.”

“We already had lunch earlier~” Misumi says, poking Ricchan on the ear, and they both watch the kitten wiggle off his finger. Misumi tilts his head, pokes the kitten’s nose this time, and gets a light meow. “Ah, he says he’s hungry again because kittens need a lot of food. To grow up bigger!”

Guy makes a rather amusing relieved noise as he pushes the plate towards the kittens. “Please feel free to have my sandwich.”

“You can’t.” Misumi makes a stern face, pulling the corners of his lips as far down as he can. “It’s Guy’s lunch. You have to eat properly too, Guy. Or else everyone will be sad!”

Guy raises an eyebrow. “Everyone?”

Misumi holds his gaze, nodding resolutely. “Everyone!”

“I suppose food intake is important for actors to keep them in top shape,” Guy muses, but hesitates from pulling the plate back because the kittens are already sniffing the sandwiches in interest, meowing softly. He glances at Misumi, still with the stern look. “Would it be okay if we share?”

Misumi reaches to take half of the sandwich out of the plate, ushering the two kittens to the side before placing the sandwich half on the table. Almost too predictably, the two kittens pounce on it, and Misumi gives Guy a grin.

“Half and half! Really good triangles~” he says, then lowers his voice as if he’s keeping a secret from the rest of the kittens. “Omi left some ingredients for onigiri this morning, so we can make onigiri later if you’re still hungry~”

“Thank you,” Guy nods, finally taking his half of the sandwich from the plate. “I hope Yukishiro and Furuichi have already had their lunch today.” 

“I put onigiri on the dining table for them too~” Misumi tells him, subtly proud that he’s making sure everyone is eating lunch today. There isn’t much he can help with around the dorm, and everyone is always so nice and bringing him triangles. He likes having a chance to make sure everyone is doing well in return. Including swatting at Yacchan when she starts rubbing against Guy’s hand and meowing again obviously hoping for more food.

The kitten just glances at him in disinterest. Misumi huffs, puts on his sternest face, and says, “Nyaa~aa!” 

Yacchan meows right back at him, then sniffs haughtily. Misumi frowns, because how dare she, and pokes her on the leg. “Nyaa~aa!”

“What did she say?” Guy asks, a note of interest in his voice. “More food?” 

“I told her she can’t have more,” Misumi purses his lips. “And she says that it’s not even my food, so I don’t get to tell her that she can’t have more...” 

Guy nods, like he really understands, and Misumi thinks for all his bland and expressionless looks, perhaps Guy understands what really matters better than most people do. So he says, “Guy, you should tell her that she can’t have your sandwich~”

Guy looks down at the kitten, eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly, and says, “Nya~aaa.”

Yacchan blinks at him. Misumi mirrors her, except then he breaks into a huge smile, and scoots closer to Guy.

“It’s ‘nyaa~aa’!”

Guy looks adorably confused as he tries to parrot Misumi. “Nyaa-a..?” 

“Nooo, it’s ‘nyaa~aa’!”

“Nya~aa....?”

“That means something very different, Guy...”

“Nyaa~a...”

Unknown to the two of them, one Settsu Banri who has just arrived back from university classes stands by the porch, one hand hanging just inches from the now forgotten door knob. He stares mutely, baffled at the peculiar sight of a grown-ass man expressionlessly crooning cat noises at three kittens while a stern-looking Misumi coaches him how to make those noises.

Really, there’s no other possible reaction that Banri could have had except for a heartfelt, “...the fuck is that...?”

**——-o0o——-**  

This isn’t exactly the first time Banri has watched Takarazuka DVDs, obviously, but there is always the part of him that stays impressed every time, even if he had expected the performance to be brilliant—the tiny gestures of musumeyaku that showcase so much in contrast to the large motions of otokoyaku that somehow hide so much, the graceful glide of pointy shoes on the dangerously narrow staircase and the proud struts crossing the span of the stage within seconds. It never fails to remind him that there’s still somewhere higher to aspire towards, and even if his life is super ultra easy mode, trying to reach those heights is not going to be easy, much less give him time to get bored.

There’s the sound of feet pattering on the floor  and Banri glances at the clock—almost five, of course it’s high time for the younger students to come home. Without even taking his eyes off the screen, he calls out, “Welcome home!”

“We’re home!” A two-person chorus, which Banri identifies as the pair of cousins excluding the oldest, most annoying one. He’s proven right when Muku appears by the couch,slides in to sit next to him, one hand holding a soda popsicle towards Banri, eyes bright in excitement to see what Banri is watching.

Banri takes the soda popsicle, if only because he knows Muku will just continue to hold it out to him if he doesn’t take it. “You know, it’s almost dinner time, Director-chan will scold you for spoiling your appetite.”

“Oh, but it’s only one! And we got it for free,” Muku says, grinning when Kumon throws himself onto the couch on Banri’s other side. “The old lady who likes to invite Citron-sama for tea was looking for Tsumugi-san and she gave us three packs of popsicles. I put them in the freezer.” 

“Say thank you to Muku for getting you one!” Kumon chirps, and Banri, half in amusement, pushes at him, gesturing at the TV before sticking his popsicle into Kumon’s mouth, listening to the indignant yelp he gets.

“Quiet, I’m making notes,” he says, waving the notebook in his hand.

“Shakespeare?” Muku asks brightly, leaning forward in excitement. “Kuu-chan, you haven’t watched this, have you? It’s such a dreamy play—William and Anne were also star-crossed lovers like Romeo and Juliet, you know, and Manato-sama was so cool as she was reaching out for Mirion-sama—“

Kumon makes a vague half-interested noise. “Muku, I‘ve never actually watched this so I don’t know anything—“ 

“Shut up and watch then,” Banri tells him, shifting so that Kumon and Muku could sit more comfortably. “It’s impressive and you can learn a lot from these ladies.”

Kumon’s eyes bulge. “They’re all female actors?!”

“Aren’t they divine?” For some reason, Banri isn’t even surprised that Homare enters both the common room and their conversation with such a flair in one second flat. He’s more surprised that he didn’t notice Homare coming in at all. Sure enough, as the three of them turn towards the door, Homare opens his arms, his steps an elegant staccato rhythm to the center of the room and then rounds the couch, a perfect copy of Sao Kurama’s Burbage on the screen.

“What are you? I was enamored by Anne. What you supposed was indeed, half the truth. However! I was also half-enamored by the story you wrote! Have I not told you, over and over, that as you have your own role, I myself have my own role! What is your role, William?”

Each word is a perfect echo to the lines said by the Burbage on the screen, and because Banri is deep down still a silly child, he can’t not stand up and rise to the challenge.

Back straight, his posture a mirror of Asaka Manato on the screen, he dons the mantle of William Shakespeare, and when Banri speaks, his voice is a rumble of hesitance about to find the light: “I am... a playwright.” 

Homare holds his gaze, kind and patient. “Pray tell, what does a playwright do?” 

Banri has watched this scene several times over, he knows the small tilt of the head that William does in this scene, knows the dawning realization that should be in William’s voice. “A playwright... writes. Everything.”

“Finally,” Homare says, all flair turning into calm satisfaction. “Your eyes have finally opened.”

One-two-three beats pass, and with a grin that breaks Burbage’s character, Homare makes a grand twirl before bowing to the enthusiastically clapping Muku and Kumon. Banri shakes his head, gives his own light bow, and then throws himself back onto the couch. “Honestly,” he says and pretends that it’s a complaint. “I’m supposed to watch this and take notes for my assignment, not humor people by playing around.” 

“That was amazing, Banri-kun!” Muku gushes, and Kumon nods frantically. “Yeah! Obviously the ones in the screen are much better—“ 

Banri glowers at him. “Oi.” 

“—but you didn’t lose!” Kumon finishes with a big grin. He looks up to Homare, who now, somehow, has a cup of tea in his hand. How the actual fuck, Banri has no idea. “Homare-san, it was impressive that you knew all the lines!” 

“Because I’ve watched this play hundreds of times.” The smug look on Homare’s face is actually hilarious, because Banri recognizes the smug look of a fan anywhere. It’s the exact same look on Itaru’s face whenever he talks about Knights of Round. “Of course, I would be happy to host a Takarazuka history night, or to tell you my favorite Takarasienne—“

Kumon and Muku, of course, waste no time in agreeing to Homare’s offer, and by the time the Shakespeare play on the screen ends to make way for the revue number Hot Eyes, Homare has secured himself a captivated audience of two young teens and covered the recent stars of the Cosmos Troupe. At least Homare’s impromptu Takarazuka lesson involves less flair and grand exclamations, and Banri is just glad he gets to finish watching and making notes without anymore distractions, except for the occassional excited noises by the two younger boys.

“Much to learn,” the Director comments, when she makes her way in past the common room towards the kitchen and sees what he’s watching. Plastic bags rustle in her hands, while Taichi shuffles in after her, struggling with five more plastic bags in his arms. Banri props himself up the couch and calls out, “You need help with that, Taichi?”

“...No!” Taichi wheezes. “This is muscle training! I’ll be popular with muscles like Tasuku-san!”

“A’ight.” Banri shrugs and instead pushes himself to his feet to help the Director with her own plastic bags. Homare has pauses his impromptu lesson just in time for Muku and Kumon to turn towards them and gives them a warm “welcome home!”, which apparently gives Taichi the last push of strength he needs to get into the kitchen. Banri pats him on the shoulder. “Good work.”

The Director beams at them all. “We’re having curry tonight!”

**——-o0o——-**  

To be fair, Taichi should have known better than trying to do homework outside his room.

“So Maki-chan, the girl with the ponytail, says,” Kazunari mimes a ponytail on the back of his head and pitches his voice slightly higher. “Maybe next time I’ll dress you and Banri-kun up next time in lacy garters! And I was just crackin’ up at the idea of Settsua wearing lacy garters, ‘cause I could rock that, I know how to, pretty sure Yukki would help me too, but imagine Settsua! He would be fabulous, but he would be so indignant!”

Math homework forgotten under one arm and the pen abandoned on the far end of the balcony table, Taichi has to smother his laughter with a hand so that it doesn’t turn into a mad cackle. “That would be something to see!”

Hisoka blinks lazily from the side, seemingly half-asleep even as he nibbles on the last of the marshmallows in the value pack that Homare had produced earlier before dinner. “He’d be up for it if it’s a competition with Juuza.”

“Oh, that’s an idea, Hisohiso! Maybe we should make it an event for the dorm! Mankai Ladies Day, how does that sound?”

“Azuma and Yuki would win though.” 

“We don’t know that!” Kazunari loops an arm around Taichi’s shoulders, his grin infectious as ever. “Taicchan could be a strong contender here! He’s got experience as Zero, and he’s Yukki’s apprentice—“

“Ehehe,” Taichi blushes, happy and warm with the subtle praise. “I did my best!”

“Itaru once told Masumi that men who understand women’s feelings are popular,” Hisoka says, then pauses to look disappointed at the world when his fingers hit the bottom of the value pack and draw out nothing. “Ah, I ran out.”

Taichi perks up. “Hisoka-san, you think so? I did think doing female roles would help me understand women, but does that mean I can be popular too?”

Predictably, he gets a yawn, and then a light snore as an answer.

Taichi’s face falls. “Hisoka-san...”

Kazunari laughs. “That’s just like Hisohiso, out like a light the second he runs out of marshmallows—oh!”

Taichi opens his mouth, about to ask, but Kazunari shushes him lightly. There’s the quiet rumble of a car driving up, almost a whisper in the quiet night breeze, and then the unmistakable noise of the gate being opened. 

Kazunari brightens. “Chikachon said Itarun will be home tonight, but I didn’t think he’d be home his early!” He props his chin on the table, rolls Taichi’s pen back at him, and grins teasingly. “Come on Taicchan, your homework still isn’t done.”

Taichi makes a whining sound. “Kazu-kun, you’re not helping! And I don’t get any of these... ugh, I really should have asked Tsumugi-san for help earlier... Think he’d still be up if I ask?”

And that’s how Itaru finds the three of them on the balcony: Kazunari trying and failing to teach Taichi what little he remembers from high school math while Hisoka snores lightly from where he’s curled up hugging the empty marshmallow pack. After four days of being buried to the bone in Hokkaido snow, the warmth in Kazunari and and Taichi’s grin when he walks out to the balcony feels a little out of place.

“M’home,” he says by way of answering the enthusiastic welcome home greeting, and then places a paper bag on the table before crashing on the empty seat next to Kazunari. “And beat. Someone please get me an SSR in exchange for Hokkaido souvenirs.”

Kazunari raises both of his hands. “Sorry Itarun, I don’t trust my luck. Not a cinnamon roll like Sakusaku, I’m more of a sinnamon roll,” he winks, and it gets him a laugh from the salaryman. “Hokkaido was good for you?”

Itaru shrugs, and before he can give Kazunari a half-hearted answer, Taichi’s already snagged the paper bag and tipped the contents onto the table. An assortment of cookies, weird knick-knacks, and a pack of premium ROYCE’s marshmallow roll out. Taichi makes an impressed noise. “Itaru-san, this is a lot!”

“There’s more in the car, I’m gonna wait until Tasuku-san gets to the garage tomorrow morning and ask him to bring them up,” Itaru tells him, because he’s not the type to be ashamed over having noodle arms with no energy to lift heavy things other than game controllers. He reaches for the pack of ROYCE’s marshmallow, opens them as loud as he can, then takes out one fluffy marshmallow dusted with chocolate. “You guys think Hisoka would—“ 

He hasn’t even finished his sentence when Hisoka’s mouth already finds the marshmallow in his hand, chomping gently at his fingers holding it. Itaru blinks at him. 

“How.”

Hisoka continues to chew around his hand, one hand pulling the ROYCE’s marshmallow pack from Itaru’s other hand. Kazunari bursts out laughing.

Itaru forgives Hisoka for almost chewing his fingers off, though because not only does Hisoka tell him that he’s started playing one of the Knights of Rounds series, he also gets Itaru his second favorite’s SSR when Itaru lets him roll a solo later. Taichi’s math homework stays abandoned and forgotten as Itaru challenges him for a game match, and they end up roping Kazunari into downloading and playing one of the more recently released RPG mobile games until midnight rolls around. 

“I’ll just stand in the hallway tomorrow,” Taichi says in resignation as Kazunari stands up, yawning widely even as he half-drags a sleeping Hisoka to his feet. “Or maybe if I wake up early I can get Tsumugi-san to teach me and finish this before going to school..?” 

Itaru pats him on the shoulder. “I’m sorry that I can’t be your strength, my friend. Let’s just rest up tonight and let the fate guides us tomorrow.”

Taichi makes a face at him. “How is it that both you and Kazu-kun remember nothing of high school math? I thought Kazu-kun was good at studying!”

“Wow, rude, I am still very good at studying,” Kazunari flicks one of the milk candy wrappers at Taichi. “But it’s been a long time since I had to do algebra! What’s your excuse, Itarun?”

Itaru shrugs. “I hate math.”

They all pile indoors—Itaru is responsible enough to remember to lock the door to the balcony behind him before following the other three into the common room. He pauses when Kazunari raises a hand, placing a finger in front of his mouth as it curves in a soft smile, gesturing to the couch in the common room.

Their playwright is there, gaze laser-focused on the laptop screen as the staccato sounds of keyboard clicking echo away in the empty common room. 

They all stare in silence for a moment, before finding each others’ eyes and exchanging grins.

The next play will always be something they all look forward to. 

**——-o0o——-**  

Omi will find Tsuzuru in the morning, eyes bloodshot with lack of sleep and fingers too jittery to gather his stuff spread all over the table, and because an early Omi without coffee doesn’t function well either, the older one will just take Tsuzuru by the scruff of his nape and steer him back to his room. Tsuzuru falls asleep walking halfway to room 203. 

But that’s a story for tomorrow, in the Mankai dorm that never sleeps. 

**——-o0o——-**  

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> (hello this is me, someone who tears up listening to the “under the same roof” part of Haru Natsu Aki Fuyu lyrics)


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